Move Forth
by Stellarscapes
Summary: Week by week, we come to see how Vegeta struggles with an impending second fatherhood and how he battles against one of the fiercest and most stubborn rival so far - a pregnant Bulma. Vegebul fluff. Post-buu saga.
1. Chapter 1

**Well, hello there! I hope you enjoy reading. Every chapter would consist of four weeks of pregnancy; each chapter would be at the very least 200 words and with a max of 300. Oh and if you did enjoyed it review please! I'll love to hear your responses.**

Disclaimer: No infringement is intended. I don't own anything. All characters are property of Akira Toriyama.

* * *

 **Chapter 1:** **First month.**

* * *

 **Week 1**

 **Complicated**

"Did you do something?"

"Do what, idiot?"

Goku shrugs, all gracefulness and oaf, and scratches the back of his head. They're hovering mid-air, and Vegeta's fists are clench, ready to snap the perplexed expression out of him.

"I dunno, Bulma seems… _weird_."

Vegeta snorts, his legs swings to the right, he goes for an upper cut but the fool anticipates and retreats back. "That's a constant on her, Kakarot. I don't see any real issue."

"Then why did she yelled so much?"

"Specify yourself, fool. She's _always_ yelling."

"….when I came by?"

One regal shrug and another swing is his answer.

Goku nods and lifts is forearm as Vegeta's knees comes dangerously close to his face. "Okay. Just thought she was sick."

"Sick?" a snort. "More like hormonal."

Goku propels himself and launches to his right, but Vegeta quickly disappears and re-appears behind him and so he spins back and they lean, trying to gain up. Goku laughs merrily. "Hey! Chi-chi used to say that all the time with Gohan. Well, when she was…" he gestures his stomach.

"Your harpy…" the retort dies on his lips. "Wait, what?"

"Is vomit hormonal too?"

* * *

 **Week 2**

 **Code**

After he comes back he does not corner her. Royalty doesn't _wait_. Instead, he locks himself up, ignoring his son's and Kakarot's spawn incessant laughter, and obliterates more than a dozen of droids, demolishes the vexing control panel after it began beeping ominously and may or may not have done a hole proportional size on the roof when Goten came to ask him when would the woman come.

He scoffs angrily, muttering to himself and goes to take a damn bath.

When she finally arrives, all yawns and heavy-lidded eyes, he does not demand or question. He simply pads barefoot to the kitchen, grabs her things, deposits them on his son's outstretched hands, ignores his outrage, and guides her by the elbow to their room.

"Big day. Lots of paperwork to fulfill. Bitches to cut loose." A sigh. "All normal. And _you_ , how was your day?"

"Fine."

She breathes a laugh, rolls on her side, and comes face to face with him.

"…Vegeta?"

"Hn."

"I think…"

"I know."

She blinks. "Really?"

"Really."

"Damn."

"Damn?"

"Yes, damn, I wanted to see your face!"

Vegeta rolls away. "Strange female."

"So…you okay with it?"

A milliard of answers race by.

"Hn."

"Okay." She snuggles closer. " _Okay_."

He is _not_ okay.

* * *

 **Week 3**

 **Flutter**

Once again he remembers why he did almost eradicate the human race. _Their stupidity._ He halts his snapping only because the nuisance of a doctor Bulma brought down with them to the Medical Bay of Capsule Corporation is on the verge of a panic attack after his last demand to quicken up. The woman is inclined on a metallic bench, a blue goo-like mass of sorts spread on her abdomen and under the fluorescent she looks paler and feebler. _And it doesn't suit her._

And he doesn't like the memories that resurge of another life with another sky above his head with thinned curled lips and sapphire eyes gazing at him, so he looks away.

"Human," he snarls. One step forward. "I swear if you don't hurry up—"

"Oh for the love of Kami, calm down Vegeta. It's almost done, stop whining."

He flushes. "How dare you. Saiyan-jin princes don't 'whine'—"

The insufferable woman smirks. "Well, there's always a first time—"

The doctor shifts from foot to foot. "Um…"

"That's it, vexing woman! I'm leaving! Dammit, to hell with this—"

Then, he stops, his ears perk up and his chest tightens. In the other side of the room, the woman shrieks.

"It's a heartbeat!" she gushes.

A heartbeat.

A life.

Another responsibility.

Another taint.

More weakness.

Vegeta then looks up and their eyes link—liquid-blue and bottomless brown and she smiles so brightly—and he feels his stomach rolling and lurching.

He's yet to decide if it's an unpleasant or pleasant feeling.

* * *

 **Week 4**

 **Stranded**

Crisp and cool air wipes his face. A myriad of flickering white stars glimmer on the sky, the night light offer by the newly resurrected moon is filling his senses and expanding them. But he ignores it all and focuses on the heavy and coarse feeling weighting down on his chest.

 _Another heir for our great race, father._

The grass under him feels wet—and real and solid. His eyes glazed over and he chooses to set free some of the chained memories—and Vegeta tries to remember his father's face in something akin to approval. His eyes slid shut, he tilts his head to the left and breaths out when he founds more than one.

Almost forgotten, but never discarded.

 _I'm stranded._

Or perhaps not. If the key ring on his palm is any indication is that he's indeed not stranded. He's free—free enough to leave in this very instant, to seize his ship and never look back—and he doesn't know why the very idea sickens him. Calculations of the closest habitable systems rolled down his mind even as he realizes this and he's suddenly aware of how easily escaping truly is.

Then, abruptly, a buzzing sound disrupts the soothing nature around him and he curses foul profanity when he remembers it's the annoying human communication device the woman gave him.

He fishes it out, flicks the screen with his thumb…and he blinks at the small screen.

 _Hey, guess what? I made dinner. Well mom did it. Anyway, aren't you coming back? Don't leave me hanging here, buddy._

He sighs.

Perhaps he no longer has a race to live by. But maybe, just _maybe_ he could try. If not for him then in the name of the blood of his people for-the same blood that's rushing through the child- _his_ child.

Later when he's sitting at the head of the table, fork in hand and mid-bite hovering over his mouth he would curse and bless the same soul when the woman leans in to his ear during dinner and whispers:

"I knew you'll come back," she winks. "Food is the conqueror in all the galaxies and beyond. Don't you think, sweetheart? Besides, how can you resist me?" She bits her bottom lip and drops back to her chair. All smug smiles and glimmering orbs.

He groans.

"Oh don't be such an ass, you know it."

Perhaps.

And everything else fade away.

For now.

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 **Review, please? Oh and feel free to drop prompts that you'll like to see on the following chapters. I'm open to ideas!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Second Month**

* * *

 **Week 5**

 **Bathroom**

"Did you finally decide to stop reeking inside out?"

He listens closely and frowns when he hears the snap of the tap. "Well?"

Bulma, for all her speech of properness, snarls out: "Heartless monkey! Your fucking child is doing this to me! Don't you have compassion for my poor state?"

"No."

"Then. be. gone."

Vegeta growls and palms the door, wood cracking. "Are you going to answer, yes or no?"

"Fuck you!"

A smirk curls from the corner of his mouth, he chuckles. "Already did."

"Gah!" A thump. Probably her hitting the wall again. Then, "My love for you is strong enough that sparingly it could be mistaken for hatred, you know. Happens all the time."

"Hn." He hums. A beat. "Are you done?"

The door opens, and a dishevel Bulma snarls angrily (and his eyebrows rise in interest) "Go away. They are at least 30 bathrooms in this house!"

"But this is mine."

" _Ours_ , you insensible butthead!"

"I never offer to partake any dividing in my possessions."

The door slams in his face.

He sighs and spins around. "Females."

"Saiyan-jins!" comes the snarled response.

* * *

 **Week 6**

 **Visits**

"Flowers."

" _Yes_ ," Yamcha grounds for a third time, slowly, carefully, _exasperated_. "They're flowers. And they're for my best friend. To congratulate." he adds, his eyes dart from left to right, clearly searching for her. "Is she here?"

Ignoring his questions, the prince leans against the doorway, adjusting the towel around his neck mindlessly, and finally he snorts at the fool's words. "You? Her best friend? I doubt it." he sneers. _Even Kakarot is better for that job._

"Yes, me, I'm her best friend." The buckle of roses tremble as Yamcha grits his teeth angrily, and finally he snaps. "We know since we were kids. You know this. Why the _hell_ are you asking? And, anyway, why do _you_ care?"

Vegeta's gaze slices from the floor, to his knees and meets the other fighter's stare inch for inch. He shrugs. "I don't." he replies tonelessly.

Yamcha rolls his eyes. "I knew that, _already_. Now, if you'll excuse me." He gestures and moves to step inside but the saiyan-jins arm stops him. The Z fighter looks up and opens his mouth but the prince interjects:

He smirks. "She's allergic to those."

"What—" The weakling frowns, scoffing. "Like _you_ know. That's not true, I swear they're the right ones—"

In that second, as Yamcha waves the flowers on his face Vegeta seizes them. Yamcha's eyes widen like saucers. "Oh you son of a—"

"I trust you know the exit." The door starts to close.

Yamcha splutters, palm raised. "Wait a sec, you can't—!"

The door muffles the plethora of curses from the other side. Meanwhile, Vegeta skids to the kitchen, and grabs a bottle of water.

"Hm, who was that, dear?" Mrs. Briefs croons in delight, grinning.

Without looking a dark smirk spreads on his face. "Nobody."

"Oh!" the blonde-haired woman suddenly reaches forward (and instinct saves him once again and he steps back on time from her touch) and she takes the buckle from his hands. "These are so lovely!"

"Hn."

"Are they for Bulma? They are! Oh she loves this ones! Such details will leave her swooning in no time, Vegeta dear. I can't wait to tell her—"

He waves his hand. "Is lunch ready?"

"Oh." A blink. Then she smiles, unaffected. "Why yes."

"Good."

* * *

 **Week 7**

 **Knowledge**

"This…what is _this_?" Vegeta sneers. "Woman!"

The blue-haired female extracts her head from the bathroom. "I'm…sorry? What's the issue here?" she asks just as she towels her hair, blue strands darker than usual.

" _This_." Vegeta gestures the contaminated area with a twisted scowl on his face. "What is all this doing here?"

"Oh please." Bulma rolls her eyes, and huffs a laugh. "This is nothing, Vegeta. They're books."

"I want them out." Vegeta grounds out, a serious demand with an extremely serious face. He points menacingly, glaring ominously. "Out. In the garbage."

Bulma gasps. "How can you say that? They're extremely useful and informative!"

Vegeta leans forward, grabs the first one without looking and reads the red-bolded letters. " _What to Expect When You're Expecting_." His scowl deepens. "Human filth is what it is. Out with it now."

Bulma snatches it out of his hands and cradles it to her chest like a newborn and Vegeta grits his teeth in vexation. "I want them here." she states, determination on her voice.

"Look elsewhere."

"No."

"Elsewhere." he snaps, "Not in my bed."

"Ours!"

"I don't care!"

"Well then," Bulma replies sweetly. "Why should I care for your opinion?"

"Because…" Vegeta leans forward. A dark aura cracking around him. "I have power beyond your comprehension, far beyond from what your little mind can analyze. I can obliterate you with a flick of my wrist and I would not regret it for one instant."

"Wouldn't you?" Bulma coos, batting her eyelashes.

He grins darkly. "Not a drop."

Bulma does a show of sighing, long and deeply, and she plops down on her bed. "Unfortunately, I guess." she laments.

His smirk drops, little by little. His stance changes since the battlefield shifted apparently. "Explain your nonsense."

Bulma scoots over in their (despite what he said he considers it as such, has since some time now) bed, coming to rest at the very center. She puffs some hairs out of her face, bangs falling wildly. Her cerulean eyes shine mischievously under the shadow of draping light that floats across the ample room…and suddenly he knows what she's doing.

The saiyan-jin prince straightens up, radiating every ounce of royalty that he has. "It won't work." he tells her.

"Won't it?" Her eyes slide down and then upwards after a bit, she bits her lip. "I think…." she sits down, crouches to her knees and cocks her head to the side. "…it's already working out." she purrs.

Well, fuck it then.

It is until she's boneless in his chest later on at the middle of the night that he rumbles in her ear, "I'm still throwing them out."

"Dammit."

* * *

 **Week 8**

 **Deadlines**

"Human gestation occurs on nine months."

Bulma lifts her head, cranes it to him, from the motherboard she's working on in her lab. It's two in the morning. And she suspects Vegeta's here to collect her (not that he would say) rather than ask her about pregnancies. Or perhaps…

"Usually." she replies flippantly. Her head bending again since she's almost finish…

"Usually?" he says. And even with ten meters of distant and her back turned she imagines the scowl settling on his face—this time quizzical rather than murderous.

"In my family we tend to have earlier."

"Is that an oddity?" his voice shiftes, so it's a real question.

"Well, not exactly." she hums. "Around eighty-nine percent of women deliver on due date. As I said, I don't—didn't." she adds, nonchalantly, since sometimes she distinguishes the underline meaning that he does want to know what happened _before_ with Trunks. Even if he doesn't say it as so.

"Hn."

Bulma turns around, wipes her hands on a rag and grins. "No need to feel jittery now. You have time."

He huffs. "I don't need it."

Her grins turns into a smile, and she stands up and shuts down the lab on her way. "If you say so, tough guy. Now, come on, I do feel rather famished myself and since I know you're always up for a late night snack we can indulge ourselves." Her lips curled mischievously. "And, we can do it with other _snacks_ later on."

He rubs his eyebrow angrily. "Your vulgarity doesn't waver with anything, woman, does it?"

His rolls of eyes make her day and night. She giggles all the way to the kitchen.

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AN/: I know this is supposed to be from Vegeta's POV but I couldn't help myself! Anyway, this is the only snippet will be seeing of Bulma (I think) and I hope you'd like it. Review! (Thank you for your follows and support, they're most welcome)


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